


Burn My Wings

by Stella_STARgazer



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, small mention of Joan's rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13592037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_STARgazer/pseuds/Stella_STARgazer
Summary: Governor and former governor meet in the night, but who really holds the upper hand in this twisted game?(This little fic has morphed into a collection of vignettes that all follow the same theme.)





	1. Chapter 1

The fluorescent bulb overhead flickers; flutters like a broken butterfly’s wings. Vera blinks at her distorted reflection in the mirror, a sardonic laugh gurgling up from her sour stomach. Everything turns to shit in this place, you need only give it a bit of time... 

...or a hearty push from Joan Ferguson.

Bitter tears sting her eyes as she remembers how giddy she felt when her gaze fell on that small brown box with the delicate white bow only a few hours ago. How stupid she was to think that this day would have a happy ending. Despite no tangible evidence, she knows without a doubt that Ferguson was behind the macabre display and her stomach churns at the thought of how easily she was manipulated by the former governor yet again.

From the tap, icy water splashes against the porcelain basin and she cups fragile hands beneath the flow, bringing a generous pool to wash her pallid face. Eyes shut, she squeezes them tighter against the image of clotting blood sprayed copiously across her narrow chest. Blinking hard against the memory, she wonders if she’ll ever feel truly clean again.

With a deep inhale, she dries her face and tugs at the waist of the spare uniform jacket she keeps in the locker on her office wall. The bloody garments may be gone, but the olfactory memory remains. Resigned to the fact that she’ll not look any better, she switches off the light and returns to her desk. She’s exhausted, but she’s got one thing left to do before she can leave this hell hole for some rest.

The expected knock arrives and the new night shift officer enters, guiding Prisoner Ferguson into the room by the firm grip on the back of her bicep. He gives Vera a nod and waits for further instruction.

“You may leave us, Officer Wilson. I’ll usher the prisoner back to her unit when we’ve finished here.” He gives a quick nod in agreeance and sees himself out of the office.

There’s a long pause as Joan lingers by the door, obsidian eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, pale hands buried in the pockets of her blue grey bathrobe. She looks startlingly softer with the lingering haze of sleep relaxing her normally stern features. Vera watches her silently, arms crossed at her chest as she stands behind her desk.

“Goodness me, Vera. You’re here quite laTe.” She badgers, finally breaking the silence, as a ghost of a smirk quirks her wide, bow lips. She wonders why she’s been summoned at such an hour, but she’ll never give Vera the satisfaction of knowing she’s finally caught her on the back foot.

“It’s Governor Bennett.” Vera corrects haughtily, her sea green eyes reflecting thinly veiled distaste.

The smirk on Joan’s face grows wider and slowly she approaches the desk, proceeding to the chair across from where Vera stands.

“Don’t sit.” Vera quips crisply. Joan looks up and meets Vera’s stern gaze with a challenging stare of her own.

“So, is this the meeting where we plan how we’re gonna work together, for the benefit of the women?” A sharp eyebrow raises in sarcastic amusement.

“No. This is the one where I suspend all your privileges.”

“On what grounds?” Joan questions. Vera lets her gaze linger for a moment before responding.

“I know it was you.” She states firmly, lower jaw clenched tightly with anger. Joan pulls an amused expression and with a quick inhale, fires back.

“What’s the legal expression? It’s on the tip of my tongue.” She clicks the offending muscle for emphasis, producing the desired flinch from her opponent across the desk. Onyx orbs narrow as she makes an exaggerated show of introspection. “Burden of proof?” She casts her coal black eyes to the smaller woman before her, expecting a falter in her artificially tough facade.

“Take it up with the ombudsman.” Vera replies without hesitation. Anger flashes across Joan’s alabaster face: a refined nostril flaring in irritation, her forehead creasing between furrowed brows.

“If you try anything, I will have you slotted. Indefinitely.” Vera continues with steely resolve.

A burning heat courses through Joan as she notes the resolution in the former mouse’s eyes. Taking a step closer to the desk, she leans forward slightly and fixes the tiny governor with a flinty stare.

“I would have thought you’d be grateful. Seems someone’s done you a favor by finishing what you started but failed to see through to conclusion.” Vera huffs sarcastically, rolling her eyes with a flippant shake of her head. Her gaze returns to Joan and she flashes a derisive smile.

“What are you even talking about, Joan?” She releases her arms and settles her hands on slim hips. Joan flashes a wicked smile and leisurely takes a seat in the chair, deliberately disobeying Vera’s previous command, pleased but not surprised that Vera’s taken the bait.

“That little tumble Lucy took down the stairs last year. Surely you didn’t expect  _ everyone  _ to believe your little white lie?”

Vera’s heart begins to thunder and she feels the red-hot flush as it quickly bleeds across her chest. Of course Joan would know; she learned the skill of revenge from the best, after all. No longer the transparent ingenue however, her face remains a sea of calm and she forces a sarcastic laugh as she shakes her head in disbelief.

“And you expect me to believe this wasn’t your doing?” She folds her arms across her chest again, chin dropping to cast a condescending stare from ocean eyes. Joan’s jaw clenches; she’ll admit nothing.

“Lucy is a pig. She got what she deserved.” Chicory eyes fall to the desk and she shakes her head slowly in disgust.

For a moment, silence descends upon the room. Vera watches Joan, her thoughts racing to unravel the mind of a monster. She drops her arms and circles slowly to the side of the desk, tapping a bony knuckle on the surface, her face displays deep introspection. Finally, she speaks.

“You know, I should have predicted you’d make a bid for top dog; you always need to be in charge. But why use Gambaro? What’s she ever done to y-” Suddenly she stops. Realization hits her like a train barrelling down the tracks. Her face grows ashen at the discovery and she looks to Joan with a grave expression. Joan looks up from the desk, with a look so intense it threatens to scald; she knows her secret’s been uncovered by her little mouse. A coal black heart ignites to a dull glow.  

“It was her, wasn’t it?” Her voice takes on the timid tenor of the past. Joan’s eye spasms with the painful memory, but she remains silent.

“She...raped you.” Her chest tightens as she looks to Joan for answers. For the first time ever, she sees vulnerability in the formidable woman’s gaze. Joan’s top lip twitches and she quickly jerks her head to break eye contact, throwing her glassy gaze to the window across the room.

After a long pause, Vera moves around the desk toward her. Apprehensively, she reaches up a slender hand, willing to place a reassuring touch, though she knows it’s likely to burn. “Joan, I’m-”

Suddenly Joan reaches up, roughly seizing her fragile wrist, blunt nails digging sharpy into the pulse point, threatening to spill crimson life from the violent grasp. Stormy eyes bore into her and she shrinks under the pressure of the stare. Joan continues her strong hold, as the bruise begins to blossom beneath her abusive fingers. Vera’s mouth falls open, but she can’t bring herself to speak.

“I don’t need your pity.” Joan murmurs before finally releasing her grasp, letting her hand fall almost lifelessly to her lap.

Vera massages the injured wrist in silence, eventually moving off to the window. She stares out into the yard and the dim yellow haze the spotlights cast into the still night air. Despite everything between them, her heart aches for her former mentor...her former friend.

“You should have told me.” She whispers into the stretching silence. “I could have slotted her and put in a petition for a transfer; I could have protected you.” Like a statue she remains, her eyes still locked onto the yellow-black abyss beyond the window. She hears Joan eventually rise from the chair and approach.

“I didn’t need your protection and she deserved to suffer.” Joan settles in behind; she watches their reflection in the glass.

“Is revenge the only thing that motivates you?” There’s sadness in her voice and she casts a half glance over her shoulder, too disappointed to meet the devil’s gaze head on. Joan takes a step closer. Vera’s heartbeat quickens at the proximity.

“Ask yourself, Vera: why do you think  _ you _ were the recipient of that little brown box with the neat white bow?” The timid mouse cautions a glance at their reflections in the window. Even through the distortion (or perhaps because of it) she can finally see the truth in those abysmal eyes.

“....The riot.” Sweet agony seizes her chest with the revelation _. _ Joan proffers an infinitesimal quirk of a lip, meeting her former deputy’s gaze in the window. She leans in over a bony shoulder, her warm whisper tickles the delicate flesh of Vera’s neck.

“Even monsters have the capacity to be the white knight.” Her gaze remains steady in the glass, fixed on the tempest eyes reflected toward her.

A single tear escapes an ocean eye and trickles slowly down a chiseled cheek. She knows it’s wrong to feel so  _ satisfied _ by such a twisted display of chivalry, but her hummingbird heart flutters wildly with the unspoken truth: Joan truly  _ does  _ care.

Suddenly, possessively, Joan wraps her arms around her, pulling her close against her impressive form. She reaches up, wrapping diminutive hands around the stronger ones clasped firmly across her stomach and left breast in a half-hearted attempt at resistance. Joan remains still and silent, her breathing generating a steady rise and fall against Vera’s back. Patiently she waits for the inevitable submission.

Finally succumbing to the irresistible pull, Vera’s grip slackens. Desire propels her surrender. Sea blue eyes close and her head rolls to the side as Joan’s elegant hands move down the buttons of her jacket. Once open, her shirt is gently tugged from the waist of her trousers and a large, warm palm settles flat against her quivering belly. From behind, Joan inhales deeply and returns her other hand to cup a modest breast.

The same blunt nails used to inflict pain only moments ago, now graze a teasing touch beneath the waist of the tailored black pants. Long pent-up need propels them past foreplay, directly to the main event.

A sharp inhale from each marks the arrival of dexterous fingers to the prize. Vera reaches down with trembling hands to fumble with the button and zip of her pants, finally succeeding in their release to give Joan better access. Her right hand moves to the window to brace her trembling frame and her left settles atop the hand buried between her thighs.

“Oh….god…” she mutters as Joan’s fingers make a long, slow swipe along her wet slit. She bites her bottom lip harshly; it’ll bruise by morning.

Joan continues to stroke her firmly, burying her chin in the crook of Vera’s neck, her hot breath and lips grazing teasingly across crimson-flushed skin. She won't bestow a kiss; that makes it far too real. She keeps up her feverish pace, despite the burn in her wrist and the increasingly strong pulsing in her own cunt.

“Fuuuuck,” Vera mewls. Her head rolls forward, forehead pressed hard against the window sill. Joan releases a low moan in her ear, pulling her from her own haze of pleasure.

Dropping her right hand from the window, she reaches behind her ass, frantically searching for the waist of Joan’s lounge pants. Finding it, she slips inside, following the heat directly to its source. Joan inhales sharply as Vera’s fingers make contact with her sticky thatch of curls. She quickens her pace against Vera’s clit as she feels small fingers begin to explore her swollen sex. Vera works feverishly between Joan’s slick folds, matching Joan’s rhythm, as her own legs begin to tremble beneath the weight of her mounting pleasure.

She holds her breath as her little death quickly approaches, seizing her more quickly than it ever has before. She pants out ragged breaths as the pulsing in her cunt makes her knees begin to buckle. Joan adjusts her left arm, wrapping it firmly around Vera’s ribs to hold her up as she begins to succumb to the crashing waves of orgasm. A long, wanton moan escapes her gaping mouth as Joan strokes the final wave of pleasure from her body.

A few firm strokes later and Joan follows, eyes screwed shut as the strong orgasm rips through her tall frame, pulling a stream of low breathy sighs from her parted lips. They lean heavily against the wall, still wrapped in their sordid embrace until the waves of pleasure finally subside.

Eventually, Joan gently releases Vera, stepping back to straighten her disheveled appearance. Vera turns, pressing her back against the wall as she silently pulls her uniform back into order. Once fully dressed, she looks up to Joan with a small half smile.

“I’ll just...escort you back to your cell.” Joan nods agreement and follows Vera as she steps out of the room.

The trip to H block is silent, though they walk so close their arms graze against each other. Reaching their destination, Joan steps inside her cell, finally turning back to the doorway to meet Vera’s troubled gaze. Her heart drops, though she knew this was inevitable.

“I...can’t….give you anymore. Not like this.” Vera finally whispers, her voice breaking with the confession.

Joan looks at her for a long moment, her dark gaze finally reflecting the pain inside her heart.

“I know,” she whispers back before taking a seat on the tiny cot and staring blankly at the wall across the cell.

Vera lingers in the door for a moment longer, before she leaves the tiny cell, another salty tear streaming down her cheek as she gently closes the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second chapter has been a few weeks in the making. Although the idea came pretty quickly, it's execution has been a bit of a pain and yet again, I'm not 100% thrilled with the outcome. I'm letting it go though, so here it is....

Petite black heels echo crisply down the dusty teal halls; a diminutive shadow moves in time with the clicking. The Top Doe makes her way to visit the Top Dog. There’s drugs back in Wentworth, and she intends to find out how. 

Stepping into the shower block she’s confronted by Chang and another of Ferguson’s sentinels. With a stern gaze and brusk nod of her head she orders them away. They obey (this time), but take up their guard again from just outside the door.

In the middle stall, Ferguson continues to wash her iron curtain of hair, oblivious to the unexpected visitor. The shower is her get away; there’s little privacy behind the bars, so she cherishes this bit of relaxing solitude. After securing her place as Top Dog, the constant need to look over her shoulder has eased, but her mangy mutts still stand guard to ensure that she can drop hers to truly enjoy this one remaining source of pleasure.

Vera moves quietly to the bench directly across from the occupied stall and takes a seat. Her mind wanders briefly to ponder the image behind the curtain and she inhales sharply, casting her eyes to another point across the room. Trying to distract herself from the nervous flutter settling in her stomach, she picks at a loose thread on the hem of her skirt. She told herself it was the summer heat that compelled her to ditch the pants today, but she knows that’s not entirely true.

Eventually, the water slows to a stop and a porcelain hand snakes out from behind the curtain, retrieving the white towel hanging on the hook. In anticipation, Vera’s stomach explodes into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. A few moments more and the Top Dog is revealed. Skin emblazoned with a pink glow from the heat of the shower, her hair lays in thick inky waves around her shoulders. The towel is not made for her towering frame, falling high on her long, shapely thighs. Espresso eyes widen for a millisecond as she spots Vera seated on the bench, before settling into their trademark leer.

“Ahh, wearing the skirt today. Couldn’t get to the dry cleaner on time to pick up the pants?” Joan purrs as she lifts a brow so sharp it could cut glass. Vera flushes instantly at the comment, but says nothing. The silence speaks volumes to Joan.

“It suits you; reminds me of your Deputy days.” Dewy pink lips draw wide into a sly smirk as she fixes Vera with a scathing glare.

“And was a tea towel the only thing left in the laundry?” Vera counters flatly, casting an indicative glance to Joan’s exposed thighs, her gaze lingering a fraction longer than it should.

“Ha.” Joan huffs wryly before reaching for her plush bathrobe, turning her back to Vera to put it on.

The Governor rises from the bench and comes to rest behind Joan as she pulls the towel free before tying the belt around her generous hips. Turning back around, Joan stiffens slightly when she finds Vera just inches from her, arms crossed tightly across her chest and an austere look in her ocean eyes.

Before Joan can speak, Vera begins her inquisition. “Who’s bringing in the drugs?” Joan eyes her suspiciously for a moment before responding.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vera.” she replies coolly as she returns her towel to the hook.

“You and I both know the drug supply is up, so how’s it getting in this time?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea”, she feigns innocence with a sly half-smile; teasing, swatting at the mouse as she always does. Vera offers an amused smile in return, releasing her arms and settling her hands on slim hips.

“Oh, come on Joan. You’re Top Dog, you’re supposed to know everything that goes on in this prison.” She mocks, hoping to provoke a reaction in the calculating woman. Amusement lights the coal black stare that lingers from above.

“And you’re the governor, so why don’t you?” She flashes a knowing smirk, condescension dripping like honey from her smoky timbre.

Stepping closer, she reaches above Vera’s shoulder to retrieve her toiletry bag, lingering for a moment more before pressing past the smaller woman, headed for the sinks across the room. Vera rolls her eyes and with a long exhale she releases her arms and follows, coming to rest against the wall at Joan’s side. Realizing she won’t get results from that line of questioning, she tries changing tactic.

“So, what happened to your strict “no drugs” policy?” She arches a brow with a self-satisfied expression, thinking she’s finally found the chink in Joan’s armour. Joan stops combing her hair, her full mouth curving into a mischievous grin as she turns her head to meet Vera’s gaze with a knowing expression. Putting her comb back into the bag, she turns fully to face her former deputy. “Tell me, why are you really here, Vera?”

Vera stares, irritation reflected in her blue-green eyes, again placing her hands upon her hips. “I think I’ve made that pretty clear.” Joan’s smile grows wider.

“If it was lagging you were truly after, this meeting could have taken place in your office. But no, you sought me out here...in the shower block, and why would you do that?” She takes a step into Vera’s space, towering over her as she asserts her physical dominance. Slowly, she leans down, turning her mouth to Vera’s ear.

“Were you hoping to catch a glimpse of the devil in the flesh?” Her voice is little more than a perilous whisper. Slowly she leans back to peer knowingly at Vera’s rankled expression.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The smaller woman huffs snidely, only meeting Joan’s challenging stare from the corner of her eye. She feels the heat begin to build in her belly as Joan holds her piercing gaze. She’s been caught out, they both know it.

“Admit it Vera, you want me to touch you. You yearn for more of what I gave you a few weeks ago.” She takes a step closer, reaching out to pluck an invisible speck of lint from just above Vera’s left breast, dark eyes never leaving the oceanic gaze before her.

Since that night, Vera's every source of pleasure has been accompanied by images of Joan. Her nights alone with Jake have been overtaken by images of Joan’s star-spangled mane buried between her thighs as he works her into delirious pleasure with the stiff blade of his tongue. She’s even boldly suggested being taken from behind, an idea which thrilled him to no end and sent her into a violent shuddering orgasm, because she imagined the voluptuous frame of Joan pressed tightly against her. Jake’s hot breath transformed by her salacious mind into the sweet kiss of Joan’s full bow lips, his firm grip on her hips, that of Joan’s elegant porcelain hands. It’s unwelcome, unsettling, but oh so... _ satisfying _ .

“Or maybe that’s what  _ you  _ want.” Vera counters, in direct contrast to the tingle that’s begun to build between her thighs. Her burgeoning sense of pride won’t let her give in so easily, but even more, her desperate desire to be wanted propels her repartee.

“Throw you on this counter and work you into a feverish, panting frenzy, perhaps?” Slowly she draws a ghost of a touch down the slope of Vera’s modest breast, a coy smile pulling at the corner of her full lips.

“And...would that...get you off?” Vera murmurs, a hint of hope behind her breathy whisper. She doesn’t back away from the devil’s hand that now cups the side of her breast, a long thumb brushing across her jacket, above her quickly rising nipple.

“Eager submission does have it’s merits.” She finally concedes, her husky voice oozing with seduction. Vera grows silent and there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, but as Joan begins to pull her hand away, she speaks, nervously biting her bottom lip. “So, what are you waiting for?”

With a sharp inhale and devilish grin, Joan unleashes her viper strike, wrapping strong arms around the tiny waist of the governor and quickly depositing her on the counter between two sinks. Vera gasps as she’s lifted into position, fingers white knuckling the edge of the cold surface as Joan’s hands roughly hoist the hem of the skirt up closer to her hips.

Lean legs fall open as she welcomes the alabaster hand that slinks its way up her quaking inner thigh. Throwing her head back, she inhales deeply through flared nostrils as Joan’s hand inches closer to the heat burning between her legs. As it reaches her center, Joan releases a seductive chuckle, instantly feeling the patch of curls and lack of underwear.

“Did you leave those at the dry cleaner too?” She goads seductively. Vera opens her eyes, meeting Joan’s sultry gaze with chagrin. “Just...shut up.”

Joan’s smile grows wider as she runs her index finger down Vera’s slit, pressing gently until she slips between her damp folds. Making a few passes, she coats her fingers until slick. Suddenly she slips her index finger inside, causing the smaller woman to gasp. She bites her bottom lip roughly to strangle the cry of pleasure that threatens to spill. Joan slides it deeper, down to the last knuckle, before slowly dragging it back out, pressing hard against Vera’s fluttering inner wall. She trails it back up to work at Vera’s quickly rising clit.

Vera’s breath grows shallow, eyes pressed tightly shut, as she begins to work her hips in time with Joan’s stroking fingers. As her climax quickly builds, she lifts a hand from the cold countertop, reaching out for stability against Joan’s sturdy frame. She feels the heat of skin beneath her flattened palm and curls her fingers, digging blunt nails into the tender skin just beneath Joan’s clavicle. Joan sighs at the slightly painful touch, causing Vera to open her eyes.

She’s met with Joan’s intense stare that doesn’t falter as she begins to quicken the tight circles she’s drawing with her fingers. Vera slips her hand upward, wrapping it around the back of Joan’s neck, drawing her closer. Surprisingly, she holds Joan’s gaze as she enters her once more, thrusting hard and deep with a low grunt. Her mouth falls open as she’s overcome with pleasure, her small fingers digging roughly into the pale flesh on the back of Joan’s neck. In the heat of the moment, she tries to bestow a kiss, but to her devastation, Joan deflects it with a cheek. She gasps as her orgasm crests, holding her breath against the wanton moan that yearns to escape and shutting her eyes tightly against the tear that threatens to fall. Joan moans as she watches Vera crumble, her heart betraying her as she feels the pull of the cord that runs between them.

Twitching against the sensation that’s grown too intense, Vera drops her hand to firmly grip Joan’s wrist as a signal to still her pleasuring fingers. Joan stops her caress, but leaves her hand for a moment more, finally meeting Vera’s glassy gaze. There’s an indefinable look in her dark eyes before she slowly pulls her hand from beneath the black wool skirt. She steps back, allowing Vera to slip from the counter, offering a firm grip around her bicep when she falters on shaky legs.

Silently they stand side by side at the counter, Vera straightening her skirt as Joan begins to wash her hands. When Vera meets Joan’s gaze in the mirror, there’s a sadness behind her sea green eyes that she’s surprised to see a brief reflection of in the coal black stare before her. Tears prick the corner of her eyes and she quickly turns away in a desperate attempt to save her fragile heart. Without a word, she turns and walks toward the door, Joan watching her retreat with a defeated expression.

“I want the drugs out of here.” She states crisply over her shoulder as she disappears through the closing door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea's been brewing for a while, but life's been a bit hectic as of late so I didn't get the chance to write it until now.   
> Also, I believe there may be one more chapter to this fic; the idea for a final closure to the story has presented itself in my mind so hopefully I'll get the chance to write it sooner this time. :)

The loud clang of shifting locks stills Joan’s anxious pacing and the steady, absent-minded tap of long, pale fingers against her snow-white brow. She’s been held here for hours, alone with her thoughts and calculating mind, but her patience is beginning to wear thin. A sleek sable ponytail grazes across teal, as she grows still and turns her head to listen. Instantly, she recognizes the quick, soft tap of modest heels coming down the hall of isolation. A smirk lights her stern features and she stops before the small cot to take a seat, back rigid and eyes forward, as she slips her stoic mask back into place. 

_ Yet again, the mouse has come to play. _

Each step closer to the lion’s den makes Vera’s delicate heart race ever faster. She’s always  _ known _ of Joan’s crimes, but the cunning woman’s deeds have always been done in the dark. Until today, she has never allowed an eye witness. Though the story of a witness could be marginal itself, her gut feeling is that Franky Doyle is telling the truth, despite how feeble or far-fetched her accusations may sound. The detectives obviously took Doyle’s statement with heavy suspicion, but Vera’s come to understand, through years of history and dubious circumstance that, when it comes to Joan Ferguson, damn near anything is possible.

Outside the devil’s door she comes to rest; as much for building suspense as it is to quiet the rush of blood pounding in her ears. She’s nervous, a little afraid, and yet she follows the subliminal siren’s call. (Is that what this is, or is it really something  _ more? _ ) With a deep inhale and snap of the idle elastic band around her fragile wrist, she swipes her badge to unlock the heavy iron door and slowly pulls it open.

She half expects to find Joan in some state of lycanthropic horror, her transformation into beast nearly complete after this latest brutal attack. Instead she sits serenely on the rigid cot, still managing to look almost regal despite the lackluster surroundings. Vera finds the image almost as unnerving but steps into the room, gently closing the door behind her. She lingers just inside, hands shoved deep into her trouser pockets. She’s learned to expect the fight, but she’d rather not go down in a TKO.

“Vera. How very kind of you to visit.” She mocks smoothly, dark eyes watching suspiciously though her lips bear a pleasant smile. Though her confidence rarely falters, she’s been left alone long enough to begin to wonder whether the police truly bought her story. The petite governor offers a tight, unamused expression in return.

“I’ve come to take you back to your unit.” Wool scrapes the back of her palms as she pulls her small hands from the protection of her pockets, crossing her arms before her narrow chest. The tiny thread of doubt weaving its way into Joan’s thoughts snaps as the wave of smug satisfaction lifts her prideful shoulders.

She cocks a brow in disappointment. “What a pity; I was enjoying the silence.” Sarcasm colors her words and twists the corners of her elegant mouth. For a moment Vera stares, a contemptuous glare lights her tempest eyes. Eventually a twisted grin crooks one corner of her mouth as she slowly begins to shake her head in bewilderment.

“How do you do it?” She asks, shifting slightly forward as she uncrosses her arms and plants her hands on slender hips. Joan narrows her eyes, casting a supercilious look upward to the smaller woman. “No, sorry, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Lie so convincingly.” Vera states as a matter of fact. “If it weren’t so...disturbing...I’d be impressed.” The truth of the statement is undeniable. Joan flashes a sly grin.

“Thank you.” There’s an air of arrogance that accompanies the slight bow of her head. “But what makes you so certain that my story was the lie?” Flawless, inky brows lift in inquisition.

“Oh, come on Joan! You really expect me to believe that Doyle was physically capable of snapping a woman’s neck?” Her voice raises in exasperation, it’s tone shrill and harsh, as she takes another step toward the cot. “You on the other hand, I saw what you did to those women that attacked you in the yard when you first went back into general.”

“And yet, here you are.” Joan replies coolly as she picks an invisible speck of lint from her sturdy thigh.

Vera shakes her head, brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Rising from the cot the modern Melinoe approaches, stepping so close Vera has to tilt her head back to meet her looming gaze. The elfin governor’s heart begins to race and her pretty pink mouth goes dry.  

“If I’m such a dangerous woman, why do you keep allowing yourself to be alone in my presence? Wouldn’t that be putting you in harm’s way?” Joan flashes a menacing smirk from above.

Despite her threatening stance and the anxious tension it elicits, there’s a flash of something in those coal black eyes that speaks to Vera’s intuition. Her mind leaps back to something Joan said just before their first tryst in her office months ago…. _ Even monsters have the capacity to be the white knight.  _ Joan had spoken it like the Sphinx but Vera had deciphered the riddle, it was the same as the flash that ran through Joan’s eyes now: Joan  _ cares. _

Fuelled by that realization, Vera grows bold. She holds her place just inches from the raven haired woman, her oceanic eyes returning the challenging glare. “I doubt it.” She counters nonchalantly.

Joan’s eyes narrow, but her lopsided smirk widens. She lifts a hand to finger the crown on the epaulet of Vera’s right shoulder. “You think these shiny little crowns protect you from my violence, hmm?” She goads in a husky whisper. “No,” Vera replies simply. Joan flashes a satisfied smile and allows her hand to float back to her side.

Vera pauses a beat then continues, “It’s what’s in here that protects me.” Reaching up, she taps Joan’s chest with two fingers, just above her left breast. The gesture catches Joan completely off guard, though she doesn’t let it show.

After a moment, her jaw clenches and nostrils flare, as anger begins to fill her veins. Emotions lead to mistakes and she thought she had hers safely guarded. Apparently, she was wrong. With a strong hand splayed across Vera’s chest, she pushes her forcibly against the wall. Vera blinks hard as her spine makes contact with the hard cement, a gasp escaping her lips as she sucks in the breath Joan exhales, so close are their faces after Joan’s advance. Vera could swear she sees flames behind the coal of Joan’s eyes.

No longer the spineless deputy of the past though, Vera sees her opportunity and takes it. Pressing her small frame against the hand across her chest, she reaches for the teal jumper, pulling Joan in firmly as she crashes a hard, hungry kiss against her slightly open mouth. Joan pulls away quickly with a grunt. For a long moment, she stares in dumbstruck silence as Vera watches her in nervous anticipation, teal cotton still crumpled in her fists.

Suddenly Joan releases her grasp and ivory hands move quickly to Vera’s waist, unfastening the trouser button and zip before yanking the black wool down Vera’s lissome thighs. All too willing, Vera steps out of them and reaches for the waist of her simple cotton panties before Joan takes over, slowly pulling them down her legs while she sinks to her knees, her licentious gaze remaining locked on Vera’s wide-eyed expression. Vera bites her bottom lip as alabaster hands snake up her trembling thighs, thumbnails leaving an angry streak of red as Joan drags them ever higher.

Without preamble, Melinoe dives in to her feast. Vera gasps and instinctively digs small fingers into the midnight mane buried between her thighs with the first slow, hot pass of Joan’s tongue. This way madness lies, but the governor gives up her sanity gladly.

In the throes of heightened arousal, consumed by a devil woman, Vera throws a leg over a broad shoulder. Joan smiles against her swollen clit, sucking hard as she wraps her arm around the leg, blunt nails digging roughly into the tender flesh of Vera’s inner thigh to keep her steady. Small fingers weave tighter into Joan’s star spangled ponytail.

Joan dines like it’s her last supper, with a gusto that sends Vera teetering on the brink in only a matter of minutes. Sensing the feast is nearly over, she lifts her free hand, slipping her index finger into the warmth of Vera’s core. She pumps her deep and slow as she continues to lick and suck with her expert tongue. It’s been ages since she’s done this, since her desire and a worthy recipient have coupled to create the perfect opportunity.  _ Will Vera ever know how truly special she’s become? _

In a beautiful symphony of sound, Vera moans her powerful release. Her hand grows lax in Joan’s hair and she sags against the wall, her cunt pulsing with the last few swipes of Joan’s tongue. She slips her fingers out slowly, taking them into her mouth for a final taste as Vera pants above her, eyes firmly closed in ecstacy. 

Rising to her full height, she watches as Vera returns from euphoria, her sea green eyes opening slowly to take in Joan’s awestruck expression. As a test, Joan leans forward and finally bestows a kiss, thrusting her tongue deep in Vera’s mouth forcing her to taste her own salty essence. A deep moan vibrates from the smaller woman’s throat as she returns the kiss and reaches up to cup Joan’s breast. Seizing her hand, Joan breaks the kiss and backs away. It’s too much when she’s not in control.

Vera stares and swallows hard as Joan eventually turns away and begins to fix her dishevelled hair. A few moments pass and reluctantly Vera begins to dress, melancholy, that constant companion, slowly creeping in.

It’s madness to expect something tender from a monster, but Vera’s hopeful heart just won’t let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested and not knowing the reference off hand:  
> (I stumbled on the info myself)
> 
> Melinoe is a Greek subterranean nymph or goddess referred to in an Orphic Hymn. The hymn states that she brings night terrors to mortals by manifesting in strange forms and can drive them to insanity. The purpose of the hymn is to placate her by showing that the Orphic initiate understands and respects her nature, thereby averting the harm she has the capacity for causing. (see wikipedia)
> 
> ...I thought this a pretty accurate parallel for Joan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we have come to the conclusion.  
> Just a warning....this one gets pretty emotional.

In fairy tales, everyone wants to see the monster vanquished; a glorious defeat in retribution for their sins. It is the natural order of things: there is no virtue in Evil, so it must always lose...for the greater good. 

What no one mentions (or expects), is the sudden guilt that creeps its way into one’s psyche after witnessing that defeat. Watching as the once mighty beast crumbles to the point of being a hollow shell of its former, formidable self, unaided by the freedom that death brings. Sadness bears witness to that demise, and a paranoid panic begins to fester in the back of the brain. If such a fearsome devil could disintegrate to such a vulnerable state:  _ what does that mean for me? _

Today, Vera is a woman haunted by this tragedy.

She can’t shake the image of Joan’s shell-shocked and broken expression when she beckoned her into medical. Reason told her not to listen, not to follow the siren’s call, but her heart had stubbornly propelled her feet forward. She needed to know, see with her own eyes, that Joan had not yet given in. Their brief exchange had seemed to prove quite the opposite and it ignited in her an ache that she had never felt before.

_ “Why did you do it?”  _ Continued to echo in her mind and frustration joined the nauseating mix of emotions swirling in her stomach.  The reality that Joan’s death would likely come soon and savagely filled her with a sorrow she did not know how to handle and a guilt she knew she’d never escape.

En route to H5 (compelled by the unspoken) she notices a familiar shadow seated at a table in the darkened library. Cautioning a glance in both directions, she slips quickly inside and draws the blinds as she locks the door behind her.

Joan takes the black queen by pawn on the chessboard in front of her before lifting her head as if to accept her fate. She turns to the door and coal eyes grow wide in surprise (is that relief?) when she sees Vera cautiously approaching.  

“If you’ve come for the last laugh, save your breath.” Joan quips with a spiteful glare as she watches Vera take a seat across the table. A long moment passes as they watch each other in silence.

“Does it hurt?” Vera finally ventures, sympathetic gaze falling to the brand around Joan’s alabaster neck. The tenderness in her voice and kindness in her eyes cause Joan to drop her stare; it’s not what she expected.

“It’s manageable.” She states simply.

“I tried reasoning with Channing, but he wouldn’t listen.” She offers in quiet regret.

“No, I’m sure my death will please Derek as much as it will the women.” Joan confesses resentfully. Vera squints against the pang that afflicts her heart.

“You shouldn’t be out here….I’m sorry.” The tone of her voice seems to plead  _ “Forgive me” _ .

Joan looks up from the fallen queen she’s resumed rolling in her fingers and stares at her former deputy. Her large ocean eyes bear the aftermath of a storm and finally  _ (finally),  _ for Joan, everything falls into place. Espresso eyes bear a mix of wonderment and thinly veiled despair.

“I’ll go behind Channing’s back to petition to the board first thing in the morning. I wish I could do more, bu...” Her words are lost to silence. They both know why she can’t and talk of it is useless.

“Thank you.” Joan eventually nods, growing quiet as she looks away.

Another awkward silence descends between them. Vera gnaws at her bottom lip and worries with nervous hands, eyes downcast as she stares at the table.  

“I….Joan, I’m….” she trails off, losing her nerve as obsidian eyes lift to watch her intensely. So much is left to say, she thinks, but is it even worth it so far into this sick game? There’s another pause before Joan finally speaks.

“I realize now, why you did it. The question is...do you?” The rasp in her voice still lingers, giving it an almost ghostly tone. Her scarlet brand nearly glows in the dim light and Vera feels her heart rate quicken.

Timid ocean eyes lift to meet Joan’s and though terrified to speak the truth, she doesn’t falter. “Yes, I do.”

“Why did you not say it?”

“What’s the point when it only makes me the fool?” Bitter sadness laces her quiet reply as sea blue eyes grow misty. Joan shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“It’s only foolish if it’s not reciprocated.” Joan whispers after a beat, in a heartbreakingly soft tone. Vera grows wide-eyed and after a moment begins to shake her head in doubt, furiously scrubbing at the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Don’t,” she raises a palm in protest, “I can’t play these games with you anymore.” Pushing back from the table, she rises to her feet, once again ready to walk away. This time Joan rises too, stepping between Vera and the door.

“Vera, please.” She places a gentle hand on Vera’s bicep and the panicked look in her eyes stops the petite woman in her tracks.

“I, ummm...I see now I was wrong to ever doubt you, I was wrong to believe that you had betrayed me.” The timidity with which she speaks surprises Vera and she fights to hold back the tears beginning to well again in her eyes.

“I...I don’t expect forgiveness for all I’ve done, but I...I want you to know….despite my actions, I...I have always cared.” Vera blinks at the revelation.

At the end of the road, only truth remains.

Paralyzed she stands, as a fat tear rolls down her flushed cheek. She wants to doubt her, it’d be easier that way, but the open vulnerability in Joan’s dark eyes conveys her astonishing honesty.  She’s speechless, devastated, elated all at once.

“But, why was I never good enough for you?” She finally chokes. Joan swallows hard at the sentiment that’s all too familiar.

“You were. You are.” Joan whispers as she takes a step toward her, sliding her hand down Vera’s arm to grasp her trembling fingers.

“You were so unbelievably cruel.” Vera whispers between the tears that have begun to flow freely.

“I failed you, but you never failed me.” For the first time ever, Vera sees blatant shame wash over the mighty Joan Ferguson’s face.

“I hate you, but…”

“I know.”

With an unexpected tenderness, killing hands cup Vera’s tear streaked face. An elegant finger sweeps along her jaw until she reaches her chin. Gently, she tilts Vera’s head and slowly, so slowly leans down for a languid, bittersweet kiss.

 

                                                        ----

“What the hell is this?” Channing barks over the sirens as he walks into the unit and follows Vera to the cell.

“Joan Ferguson is missing too.”


End file.
